


No Reason: Not Adverse to the Idea

by gracefultree



Series: Thought Experiments on House/Wilson Beginnings [6]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: House wakes up from being shot. Time for a little soul-searching.





	1. Waking

The steady beat of a heart monitor told House that he was in a hospital. The cannula in his nose and hissing oxygen told him that he was the patient. The aching pain in his gut told him that his dream of being shot wasn’t a dream. The pressure on his right hand told him that someone held it.

Who would hold his hand? Not even his mother would do something like that. She knew how much he hated to be touched. The only people who could touch him were Stacy and Wilson. Stacy was gone and Wilson wouldn’t hold his hand, so that left… Cameron? Cuddy? He had no idea. 

He glanced over and saw a mop of brown hair. Familiar brown hair. 

Wilson was sleeping, his head resting on his arms on House’s hospital bed, one hand clutching his. Wilson’s hair was greasy, something House had only ever seen when he was depressed after his marriages broke up and taking a week off to mope. Even on the worst of days, when he lost three patients in a row, all of them children, Wilson managed to have nice hair. 

House resisted the urge to touch Wilson’s hair by reaching for his own face with his free hand. His stubble could only be a day or two old. He could have sworn he’d been on Day Four when he’d been shot. 

“They shaved you yesterday,” Wilson said, yawning as he sat up. He didn’t let go of House’s hand, and House felt surprisingly pleased by that. “I asked them to do a full Brazilian, but… You know nurses…” He trailed off, his eyes sparkling. House thought he saw water pool at the edges of his eyes and decided he had to do something about that. Quickly. It was bad enough when women cried, but when Wilson cried he didn’t know what to do with himself on a much grander scale. And when he felt that out of control, he got sarcastic and nasty, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good. 

“They never listen,” House finished blandly. He looked away from Wilson to assess the room. He didn’t immediately see any important details and turned his attention back to his friend. “How long have you been here?” 

Wilson let go of House’s hand just long enough to rub the back of his neck and stretch, then claimed it again. He didn’t seem aware he was doing it. “Well, Cuddy gave me three days, and then it was the weekend, but when Monday came around I couldn’t concentrate and my assistant called Brown who told me to go home or stay down here and stop scaring the children, so…” He paused, counting in his head. “Nine or ten days, I think. I lost count after the first week.” 

House took a moment to take in the information. Wilson used the time to check his pupils and do a basic exam. One of the nurses happened to come in and change his IV fluids. House closed his eyes, unable to maintain the glare that he wanted to show her for her interruption. Better to be drowsy than lose his reputation. 

“Could you…?” Wilson asked, miming closing the curtains. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and left, pulling the curtains around the bed as she did so. 

“I’ve been out that whole time?” House asked when he was sure they were alone. Wilson nodded. “How long have you been holding my hand?” House asked, allowing a bit of playful flirtation into his voice. He liked flirting with Wilson, especially when it made Wilson flustered and blush. “You know how nurses gossip. That rumor about us will be alive and well by lunchtime.” 

Wilson, who’d taken his hand again after motioning to the nurse, dropped it like it was on fire and got to his feet. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know I was doing it. I’ll — um — I’ll go…” 

“James,” House said softly, trying to forestall his precipitous exit. Wilson stopped halfway to the door. He glanced back at House. 

“You never call me that,” Wilson said softly. 

House shrugged. Maybe almost dying was an opportunity? he thought. He doubted there would be a better time. He held up his hand. He twitched his fingers invitingly. Slowly, warily, as if he expected House to do something crazy or impulsive or both, Wilson sidled back to House’s bedside and took his hand. House squeezed it to get his attention, then met his eyes. “I wouldn’t be adverse to the idea,” he said, keeping his voice low and serious. 

“Wha— What idea?” Wilson stuttered. 

House let his lips turn up slightly at the edges, and while maintaining eye contact with Wilson, he rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb. There would be no way for Wilson to misinterpret the intimacy of the gesture, or the meaning behind the simple touch. Wilson’s hand squeezed his convulsively tight and a flush crawled its way up his neck, across his cheeks, and over his ears, turning the tips a bright pink. 

“House, I —“ 

A perfunctory knock on the glass walls of the room gave them enough time to drop each other’s hands before Cuddy pushed the privacy curtain open. Wilson closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, slumping back into the seat he’d been occupying. 

“The nurses said you were awake,” Cuddy said without preamble. She glanced at House’s vitals, then at Wilson. “He’s fine, James. Go home.” 

“But —“ 

“That’s right, _James,_ rest those weary butt cheeks of yours,” House snarled with the expected amount of nastiness in his voice. It took more energy than he expected and he needed a moment to finish his thought. He wondered if Wilson noticed. 

“Oh, wait, that’s what you’ve been doing! Go home and stop watching me rot away,” he added, hoping Wilson would pick up on his annoyance at being interrupted rather than tell himself that House was angry with him. He turned to Cuddy. “Now that I’m a patient, I get cable, right? Which pay-per-view stations do we have? Can I get _‘Sam the Swinger visits Tranny Town?’_ It really appeals to the masses, you know. A little bit of everything for everyone.” 

“That’s disgusting,” she answered. “And, no.” 

House turned to Wilson and gave him a full grin, complete with batted eyelashes. “TiVo it for a bro, Wilson?” 

Wilson had lost the flush of before and now looked like he was moving from embarrassment to indignation. “I have better things to do than supply _you_ with bad porn,” he barked. 

“I highly doubt that,” House answered. “But, go.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Go find the cure for cancer, or something. Daddy’s got a date with —“ 

“You repulse me,” Cuddy interrupted. House winced at her sharp tone. Wilson's head snapped around. “How’s the pain?” she continued in a more gentle voice before either of them could call her out. 

“Achey,” House answered. “But I’m guessing you kept me under to get through the worst of it.” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you give me the ketamine?” 

Cuddy paused. “Yes.” 

House threw off his blanket and started trying to get out of bed, excited to see if the treatment worked as well in real life as it had in his dream/hallucination. 

“Woah, slow down!” Cuddy said, rushing forward to stop him. From the other direction, Wilson’s urgent cry and hands on his shoulders told him that something was wrong. “We don’t know if it worked,” Cuddy said when House stopped struggling to get out of bed. Wilson’s hands remained on his shoulders, grounding him in a way touch never had before. He decided he liked being touched by Wilson. 

“The way to find out is for me to walk!” House declared. He brushed off Wilson’s hands and got to his feet. He sat down immediately, feeling dizzy. 

“House? Is it the pain?” Wilson asked, concerned. 

“Just dizzy,” he said, feeling the room begin to spin. “I think I’m gonna —“ 

“Faint,” Wilson finished for the unconscious House. He helped Cuddy get him back into bed. He looked up at her. “He’s not ready for this,” he said. 

“It’s a 50:50 chance,” she replied. “How he knew about it, I still haven’t figured out, but —“ 

“We can’t push him too hard. He almost died!” 

“I know, but he didn’t. And he’s going to be fine, so you should get some rest. I’ll have one of his fellows sit with him until you get back.” 

“What if —“ 

“I’ll make sure they put you on speed dial.” 

Wilson sighed and took a final look at House’s sleeping form. “I’m glad he’s mostly himself,” he said softly as they left the room. 

“He’ll be fine,” she reassured him again. “He’s made it through the hardest part. Now he’ll need you to be his rock to push against, and you can’t do that if you’re falling asleep on your feet.” 

With a weary exhalation, Wilson went to call a taxi. He was far too tired to drive, and he’d be no good to House if he crashed his car getting home. He thought about House’s words, and his flirty smile, and the affection in his eyes. 

_“I wouldn’t be adverse to the idea,”_ House had said. Not that he wanted it, or was looking for it, but that he might not mind if it happened? What did that mean? Did that mean that he actually wanted it, but couldn’t say because he was House? 

Wilson resigned himself to living with ambiguity for a little while. He couldn’t talk to House about it without getting mocked. He couldn’t admit that he’d spent ten days out of his mind, worrying about House and whether or not he’d live, or wake up, or be brain damaged. He couldn’t tell him that he’d held his hand for almost all of those ten days, and that Cuddy and House’s fellows hadn’t batted an eye to see it, nor had many of the other staff. Cameron had even put a hand on his shoulder as a gesture of comfort one evening. He’d met her eyes and saw understanding and acceptance. She’d ceded her place as the one who cared about House the most. 

Not that she’d _ever_ had that place. He was the one House turned to, and had been turning to for fifteen years. It wasn’t going to change because a pretty girl smiled in House’s direction. It hadn’t changed with Stacy. Much. 

His phone rang. 

“Bring food when you come back!” House demanded when he answered, not bothering with a hello. In the background he could hear the buzz of conversations. “The food here sucks.” He hung up. 

Wilson found himself smiling. House was still House, but… 

He’d asked for something, in his Houseian way. Maybe he’d be willing to lean on Wilson more than he used to be? Maybe Wilson just had to show him that it was ok? That their friendship wouldn’t break? That maybe, just maybe, they could be more than friends? 

. 

. 

. 


	2. Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson brings House pancakes.

“I assume I can trust you to get him home safely,” Cuddy said, stepping up to Wilson where he stood at the doorway of House’s room debating on whether to go inside when House was clearly asleep. He held a tupperware container in his hands, still warm from when he’d packed the food at home. Well, at House’s apartment. He couldn’t cook in his hotel room, after all, and crawling into House’s bed and sleeping with his scent all around him had been absurdly comforting after spending so long in his presence while he was unconscious.

“Yes,” Wilson answered. “I thought I’d stay the weekend, make sure nothing goes wrong.” 

“Good idea.” Cuddy paused. “Does he know you spent ten days holding his hand?” 

“He knows.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” 

“When are you two going to admit you love each other?” she asked softly. 

Wilson looked at her sharply and pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. They stood in silence for a few minutes. “I have to go to rounds,” he finally said. He turned to go but she stopped him. 

“Brown can cover everything. Start again on Monday. Sit with him!” she ordered, pointing. “And talk to him,” she added. “You’re both single. Maybe it’s time to explore.” 

“Like it would ever end well,” he muttered. 

“You won’t know unless you try.” 

Wilson lowered his head in resignation and stepped into the room. 

“Gimme!” House demanded, holding out his hand for the tupperware. Wilson jumped back half a foot, giving a startled cry. 

“Hu— How long have you been awake?” Wilson asked. 

“Long enough. She’s a nosy broad, isn’t she?” 

“I — I guess.” He shuffled forward, pulling the chair closer to House’s bed. 

House sighed in frustration. “I hate it when you’re so emotional you stutter,” he declared. He accepted the tupperware and pulled off the lid, making a sound of happiness when he discovered the macadamia nut pancakes inside. “I’d take another bullet just to get more of these,” he mumbled around the first huge mouthful. 

“Don’t say that!” Wilson exclaimed. “I’ll make them whenever you want, just don’t get shot again!” 

House regarded his next bite carefully, avoiding Wilson’s eyes. “Are you worried about what people would say?” he asked after a moment. 

“Yes. No. Maybe. I never thought it was something you wanted from me,” Wilson said softly. “I didn’t know _I_ wanted it.” 

“For someone with such advanced skills as you to be so late to the bandwagon, I’m not sure what the world’s coming to.” 

“Bandwagon? Skills? What are you talking about?” 

“Try to keep up,” House said with a half-hearted sneer. “I’ve been open to the idea for years,” House said, looking up to meet Wilson’s eyes. 

“Years? Really?” 

House shrugged and turned back to his breakfast. 

“Are we still talking about —“ House’s arched eyebrow made him close his mouth with a snap. “Right. We are.” 

“Think about it,” House said. “Make your decision one way or the other. If the answer’s no, we never have to talk about it again.” 

“What if the answer’s ‘I don’t know?’” 

“Think about it,” House repeated. He started eating again. “I get discharged this afternoon. Go make yourself useful by cleaning my apartment.” 

“And I suppose you’ll want a ride and a home-cooked meal, too?” 

“You know me so well,” House said with a grin. 

. 

. 

. 


	3. Home From the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's brought House home... now what?

House lay on his couch with his head in Wilson’s lap in a strangely domestic scene. House didn’t do domestic. In fact, he avoided it. And with things up in the air between him and Wilson, he might not have considered it even as a joke, but after he’d cleaned up from dinner, Wilson suggested it. (To keep House’s healing wound from hurting by sitting up longer than necessary, even though the skin was closed and the sutures out.) Wilson’s hand idly ran through House's hair while his mind was occupied with the action movie on tv. House decided it would be better not to point out that Wilson was doing it. If he wanted things to go in a more romantic (or at least sexual) direction, it seemed that he’d have to coax his suddenly-skittish friend along.

He hadn’t bargained on Wilson’s reticence. Usually he was a jump-into-bed kind of guy. What was different?

House was a man, and as far he he knew, Wilson had no experience with men.

House was his best friend. He doubted either of them wanted to lose the stability of a friendship that had outlasted three wives and several girlfriends, not to mention House’s infarction.

House could be nasty. Was, in fact, nasty most of the time, especially to Wilson because he knew Wilson wasn’t going anywhere. Wilson was used to overly-nice, needy women in his bed.

But House was needy, wasn’t he? Was he needy enough to spark his friend’s interest and libido?

He closed his eyes.

“House? House, time to go to bed.”

House opened his eyes slowly. Wilson bent over him, his body scrunched in half because House’s head was still in his lap. House yawned in his face.

“Ok, never do that again,” Wilson said, leaning back. “I could see all your fillings!”

“Play your cards right and you’ll get to run your tongue over them,” House replied, getting to his feet. He noticed that the tv was off. Wilson must have finished the movie. It was past midnight, later than Wilson preferred to stay up on a work night. Then he remembered that it was Friday.

Wilson made a face. “Why does everything have to be difficult with you?” Wilson asked, his hands on his hips. He watched as House walked, unaided, down the hall.

“I’m a ball of fuzziness and light,” House answered. He yawned again. “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours. I wouldn’t have woken you, but I have to pee.”

House chuckled. “Be my guest,” he said, waving at the bathroom door. He got into bed and reached for his Vicodin bottle. Wilson found him there a few minutes later, staring at the white pills on his palm.

“Please tell me you don’t need all of those,” Wilson whispered. He’d counted six pills before he looked away.

“No, I — I don’t need any of them,” House said in a voice full of awe. “I reached for them out of habit. My leg doesn’t hurt.” He poured the pills back into the bottle. “Wilson, my leg doesn’t hurt.”

“You said that earlier,” Wilson responded, sitting on the bed next to House. He rested a hand on House’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s the ketamine?”

“It’s certainly not _your_ presence,” House snapped. Wilson started and moved away.

“You know what, fuck you!” Wilson exclaimed, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. House waited for ten minutes, but he didn’t hear the front door. He waited another fifteen, knowing Wilson would relent if he hadn’t left by then. “Look, I’m sorry,” Wilson called softly through the door. He knocked gently. “Can I come back in?”

“Knock yourself out,” House replied. He sat leaning against the headboard, pretending to read a nephrology journal but really thinking about Wilson. He looked up to see Wilson open the door.

“Sorry,” Wilson repeated.

“You joining me?” House asked, trying to modulate his tone. 

Wilson’s lips twitched. “You mean, sleep together without sex?”

“Or something.”

Wilson slipped into the room and walked over. He sat down gingerly on the opposite side from House, keeping his feet on the floor, as if he were about to bolt at any second. House put away his journal and reading glasses and rearranged himself so he could sleep comfortably. Wilson hadn’t moved. House switched off the bedside light, leaving them in darkness. Wilson jumped to his feet.

“Relax, James. I won’t molest you in your sleep,” House assured him.

“You, uh, you promise?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Wilson sat down on the bed again and started taking off his shoes. House waited patiently as Wilson undressed to a t-shirt and boxers and joined him under the sheets. Like House, Wilson lay on his back, though he was as far from House as the bed would allow whereas House was at least six inches away from his edge of the bed. He shifted around a few times.

“Isn’t this strange?” Wilson asked into the dark.

“It would be less strange if you just relaxed,” House complained.

Wilson rolled to his side, facing away from House. “I never even shared a bed with my brothers when I was a kid,” he muttered. “I’ve only slept with people after I’ve had sex with them.” After a few minutes, he rolled over again to face House. He reached out and found House, resting a hand on his chest. “You’re not weirded out by this?”

House brushed off his hand. “If it’s too much for you, go sleep on the couch,” House growled. “I’m not tying you to the bed, or anything.”

Wilson chuckled dryly. “Is that something you’re into?”

“No,” House answered curtly.

Wilson seemed startled at the sharp tone and rolled away again. He didn’t leave the bed, but the atmosphere of the room was decidedly chilly. Eventually, House fell asleep, unable to stay awake to wait for Wilson to relax enough to sleep himself.

.

.

.


	4. Morning Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House wakes up with Wilson still in his bed.

When House woke to the sunshine flooding through his windows and the unmistakable sound of birds practicing their mating calls, Wilson had moved in his sleep and was clinging to House, one leg wrapped around him, erection poking his hip, head on his shoulder, drool on his chest. House smiled to himself and gathered Wilson closer. Wilson murmured in his sleep, nuzzling into House’s neck and settling with a contented sigh. House allowed himself a few minutes to pet Wilson’s hair. It was much softer than he’d imagined.

Wilson blinked awake slowly, cuddling closer to House, kissing his neck without any clear intentions beyond acknowledging his bed partner. House felt the moment when true consciousness returned to his friend because every muscle in his body tensed. Before Wilson could build up a head of freak-out, House rolled them over and pinned Wilson to the bed, kissing him. Wilson’s resistance disappeared ridiculously easily, and his body melted beneath House’s. They kissed for a long time, Wilson’s hand on his face, in his hair, stroking up his back over his t-shirt, on his hip. He started kissing Wilson’s neck, getting an adorable hitched-breath sound and a soft groan. He ran his tongue along the edge of Wilson’s ear and Wilson bucked, his erection pressing firmly against House. God, Wilson was sensitive! He managed to pull off Wilson’s shirt and started sucking on one of Wilson’s nipples. 

“Harder,” Wilson gasped, the first word spoken that morning. House obliged him and bit. Wilson bucked against him again, moaning. House tried the other nipple. Wilson grabbed his head to pull him up for another kiss, deeper, with more tongue. 

House felt himself becoming more and more aroused, his dick hardening pleasantly, rather than the awkward half-painful way of before, when an erection was merely a prelude to the pain and burn of his thigh for hours after an orgasm, whether it was with someone or just his hand. He thrust gently against Wilson’s belly, testing the sensation. He liked it. His body felt different, strange without the pain, still lopsided, but not as damaged. Well, except for the healing surgical site. 

Wilson reached under his shirt to cup one of his pectorals, freezing when he didn’t find the breast he anticipated. House opened his eyes to see the sudden panic on his friend’s face, feel the returned tension in his body, the softening erection. He sighed, sitting back on his heels, taking the pressure of his own erection as far from Wilson as the position on top of him would allow. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled off his t-shirt. 

Wilson stared, silent. He glanced up to meet House’s eyes for a moment, then let his gaze travel softly over House’s torso. House let his fingers drift along Wilson’s arm, bringing goosebumps, arousing him again with the sensual touch. 

“It’s just me,” House said. He took Wilson’s right hand and pressed it to his chest over his heart. “It’s just me,” he repeated. They stayed like that for a long moment, their eyes locked, House’s heart beating under Wilson’s palm. Hesitantly, Wilson relaxed, his hand softening so that House’s nipple rested in the crook of his palm. House let go of his hand to touch his cheek. 

“House?” Wilson whispered. 

“Wilson?” House responded in a voice just as soft and as gentle as he could manage. He wasn’t used to gentle, but he didn’t want to spook Wilson. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t molest me,” Wilson said, trying for bravado and failing. He sounded tentative and unsure. His thumb rubbed over House’s nipple. 

“In your sleep,” House reminded him with a grin. “You’re perfectly awake now.” 

Wilson returned the smile. “I guess I am,” he acknowledged. He sat up slowly, tracing House’s nipple with his fingers. He glanced at House for permission, then leaned over to lick House’s nipple, first the tip, then gently around the areola. House ran his fingers through Wilson’s hair again. 

“You’ll have to be a bit more decisive,” House said. “My nipples aren’t my most sensitive area.” 

Wilson closed his mouth around the nipple and sucked, his tongue darting out to add to the sensation. House gasped. Wilson tweaked the other nipple between his forefinger and thumb, bringing out another gasp. 

“You just haven’t had someone who knows what to do,” Wilson replied, doing something that made House buck his hips, just from the sensations in his nipples. 

“You know what to do, huh?” House asked, skeptical and impressed at the same time. 

“I’m a breast guy. Nipples are nipples.” Wilson paused. “I need some time to adjust to everything.” 

“I know. Me, too.” 

“I never thought this was possible. I’m straight. I never even considered kissing you, or any guy, until the other day. And now we’re talking about sex…” 

“But you’ve considered it now that we have?” House pushed. 

“Yeah,” Wilson admitted. “I mean, it feels good to kiss you.” 

House smiled widely. “Good. I like kissing you, too.” 

Wilson sat up fully and positioned himself next to House, their legs touching. He rested a hand on House’s left thigh, gently massaging the muscle in an absentminded way. They moved to kiss again, with more intent this time. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Wilson commented after a few minutes. 

“Just a basic knowledge of anatomy,” House replied flippantly. 

“Basic? Ha!” 

“Just ask what you’re gonna ask, Jimmy,” House said. “We’re not at work anymore; no need to couch it in vagueness so no one else understands.” 

“Have you had sex with a guy?” 

“No.” 

“Have you done anything sexual with a guy?” 

“Only what we just did,” House said. 

Wilson paused, considering his next question. “How far would you want to go?” he finally asked. House tilted his head, letting the possibilities flood his brain. Making out, heavy petting, hand jobs, blowjobs, anal sex, toys, bondage, role-play, food, phone sex, public sex, angry sex, make up sex, making love sex… Wilson waited, watching his eyes move as his mind worked in overdrive. 

“I don’t know,” House answered. “I’ve fantasized a lot the past few years, watched porn and put us in those situations, but I don’t know how any of it would actually feel.” 

“Have you, um, had anal sex?” 

House shook his head, and Wilson let out a relieved breath. “Me, neither.” 

“You sound relieved.” 

“I’m overwhelmed enough as it is, but to think that I’d have to learn as I went while you mocked me because I’d never done it and you had —“ 

“Wait just a second,” House interrupted. “I mock your sex _life_ , not your sexual techniques. I don’t know anything about them yet.” He paused. “Besides, I’d be learning as I went, too. We’d be figuring it out together.” 

“I’m not as smart as you,” Wilson protested. 

“That’s nothing new,” House muttered automatically. 

“House,” Wilson said in a pained voice, lowering his head and pulling his hand away from House’s leg. House grabbed it and held on tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” House murmured. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“I have enough insecurities without you giving me more!” Wilson snarled, snatching his hand away. 

“You? Insecure?” 

“As you’ve pointed out so often, I want people to like me.” 

“I already like you. And I don’t expect you to be all goody-goody Boy Wonder oncologist all the time and put on the face you want everyone to see. I like those other sides of you that no one else knows about.” 

“The dark sides?” Wilson proposed. 

“Exactly.” 

Wilson resettled himself against House and let him take his hand. “I don’t know what I’m doing about all this. I’m not gay. I don’t want to be gay.” 

“So you’re not gay. I don’t want to be gay, either. We’d just be us; House and Wilson.” House paused. “With sex,” he added. 

“But doesn’t having gay sex mean we’re gay?” 

House rolled his eyes. “Is a closeted gay man who has sex with his wife for 20 years straight?” 

“No, but —“ 

“Is a lesbian hooker who sucks her pimp’s dick still a dyke?” 

“Of course, but —“ 

“We are whatever we call ourselves,” House declared. 

Wilson closed his eyes in defeat, clearly still upset. “Ok.” 

House patted his hand. “Gotta pee,” he declared, climbing out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom. When he was done, he paused and looked at himself in the mirror. He rubbed a hand over his stubble. “This feelings thing is going to be harder than I thought,” he said to himself and got in the shower. 

. 

. 

. 


	5. Vicodin or ibuprofen?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House needs to decide if he needs Vicodin or ibuprofen.

“Asshole! I’ve been banging on the door forever!” Wilson growled, shoving past House into the bathroom when he opened the door. House heard the relieved groan as Wilson emptied his bladder.  


“Figured you’d just come in,” House replied, marveling at how smoothly he walked when he wasn’t feeling pain. “Not like I’ve never seen you pee before,” he added over his shoulder. Wilson continued grumbling as he showered, shaved, blew dry his hair, and dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt he’d brought over the day before when he’d been getting House’s apartment ready for his discharge.  


House, meanwhile, had gotten dressed and raided the fridge. There were leftovers from the night before, day-old pancakes, and quite a bit of vegetation that he imagined Wilson would try to get him to eat, claiming it was ‘healthy’ or some such bullshit. He grabbed the pancakes and reheated them in the microwave. He sat on the couch and knew he'd pushed too hard. Even without pain, he had an injury, and he wouldn’t be able to do everything he wanted yet.  


“Wilson!” he shouted.  


“Jesus, I’m right here,” Wilson complained from two feet away. He joined him on the couch with the first aid kit and silently started reapplying dressings on House’s wound that House had taken off in the shower and let air dry. “What did you want?”  


“Do I have ibuprofen?” House asked.  


Wilson rustled through the kit. He pulled out a packet and squinted at it. “Expired three years ago,” he said. “And I know you don’t have any in the bathroom. Do you want me to get some?”  


House played with the Vicodin bottle in his hand, turning it over and making the pills rattle. “This is too strong,” he replied. “The pain’s only a five,” he continued. “I don’t want to be taking Vicodin for a _five_.”  


Wilson smiled, his eyes wide and happy. “I’ll go get it,” he said jubilantly. He leaned over and kissed House on the mouth. When he pulled back, his expression was wary. “Sorry, I —“  


House cupped his cheek and grinned at him. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Remember that I said I liked kissing you?”  


“I shouldn’t be kissing you when I don’t know what I want,” Wilson protested.  


“Maybe not,” House allowed. “But I like what it says about you that you’d do it without thinking.”  


Wilson gave him a shy smile and closed the first aid kit. “I’ll be back soon.”  


.  


.  


.  


Wilson’s cell phone rang as he was getting back into his car, ibuprofen in hand. He glanced at the display and frowned. “Shit,” he whispered. He clicked the button. “Mom, hi.”  


“James Evan Wilson, where have you been?” his mother demanded angrily. “We haven’t heard from you in weeks! We’ve been worried sick!”  


He rubbed his eyes. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face again. “It’s been — it’s been a hard few weeks. I haven’t been able to call.”  


“You’ve only missed a Sunday phone call once in ten years!”  


Wilson paused. “House was in the hospital,” he explained.  


“Five years ago, yes, but —“  


“He was in the hospital,” Wilson repeated. “He was shot, and in a coma, and we thought we were going to lose him and —“ Wilson squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but one fell, and that started a cascade. He started sobbing. “He was shot, twice, and I thought — I thought I’d lost him. I thought I wouldn’t get to say goodbye, or see him again, or listen to him mock me, or —“  


In the back of his mind, Wilson heard his mother on the other end of the phone trying to soothe him, to tell him it would be ok. He sobbed harder, all the stress and anxiety and worry of the past two weeks bursting out of him in a rush.  


“I thought I’d lost him,” he said again as he pulled himself together.  


“How is he?” she asked.  


Wilson took a shuddering breath. “He’s out of danger,” he said. “He’s home. I’m staying with him for a little while.”  


“Maybe it’s time you moved in together,” she suggested gently.  


“No, it’s just for a little while,” he mumbled.  


“Jimmy, there’s no need for you to pretend,” she said. “It’s been long enough. Everyone knows.”  


“What?”  


“We know, Jimmy, about you and Greg. We haven’t said anything because we wanted you to come to us, but…” she trailed off. “It’s fine. We’re fine with it.”  


“Me and House? What are you talking about?”  


“Well, you know, that you’re — that you’re lovers. That you’re gay. We really thought you’d come out after you and Bonnie split up, what with his condition, but you mustn’t have been ready because you married Julie, even though we all knew that was just a cover.”  


Wilson’s mouth worked silently, unable to process what she was saying. “Mom?”  


“We just want you to be happy, dear,” she said.  


“Okay,” he responded, breathing deeply to try to regain his calm. “Okay.”  


“It can’t feel very good to hide what you mean to each other, does it?”  


Wilson swallowed around a lump in his throat. “No,” he whispered.  


“We should probably wait to tell your father officially,” she continued. “He’ll be fine with it, of course, but you know how it’s better to wait until after tax season.”  


“Yeah,” Wilson said, thinking of how insane his accountant father got when all of his clients seemed to want to do their taxes at the last possible moment and file extensions on top of it.  


“What about your brother? The girls have been a handful lately, but he should have time for a conversation, at least.”  


“No, I’ll wait,” Wilson said quickly. “I can, um, I can tell him with Dad. At Thanksgiving, or something. I need to, um, I need to talk to House. About, you know, telling people.”  


“Of course, darling. I’ll let you get back to him,” she said. “Love you!”  


“Love you, too,” Wilson said to the empty air. His mother had already hung up the phone. He closed his cell and rubbed a hand over his face again.  


.  


.  


.  


“What took you so long?” House demanded as soon as Wilson got back to the apartment. He shuffled into the room and sat on the couch next to House, handing him the pill bottle.  


“Mom called,” he answered. He offered a water bottle.  


“How _is_ Judy?” House asked, his voice softening. He’d always had a soft spot for Wilson’s mother, and he thought that the feeling was mutual. “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her.”  


“She thinks we’re gay lovers,” Wilson muttered.  


House’s eyes widened. “Really?”  


“She seems to think it started before Bonnie and I split. Before the infarction. She wanted me to come out to her, but decided that she’d just bring it up now.”  


House nodded to himself. “That would explain some things she’s said over the years,” he said after a pause. “Why would she say something now?”  


“I missed the Sunday phone call last week. She’s been calling me daily ever since, and I haven’t been able to find the time to call her back.”  


“You told her what happened to me,” House stated. “You cried,” he added, examining Wilson’s face. “You hid it well, but I can tell your eyes are still puffy.” Wilson nodded silently, and House sighed. “The only time in fifteen years you missed a Sunday call to her was when I had the infarction. You called her from your honeymoons!”  


“How do you know that?” Wilson demanded.  


“I go through your cell phone logs,” House explained. Wilson crumpled in on himself.  


“You almost died,” he said, his voice cracking.  


“I didn’t,” House told him. “I’m still here.”  


Wilson shifted closer and leaned against House’s side. “Maybe we should try it,” he said after a moment.  


House shook his head while simultaneously wrapping an arm around Wilson. “Not because of guilt. Not because your mom already thinks we’re doing it.”  


“I love you,” Wilson insisted. “I know it now. That’s why.”  


“We can’t try,” House said. “We either decide to do it 100% or we stay friends. No fuck-buddy thing, no girlfriends on the side.”  


“If we do it 100%, what does that mean?”  


House paused. Wilson could see him debating with himself about what to say. “It means you move out of that crappy hotel and live with me. It means we sleep in the same bed. We have sex. We — _I_ — I try to show that I care.”  


“I know you care,” Wilson protested.  


“I’ve seen the looks on other people’s faces when they see how I treat you,” House said. “It’s pity. They pity you for being friends with me. I don’t want them to pity you for being my boyfriend.”  


“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought?”  


“Maybe it’s time I did,” House said softly.  


.  


.  


.


End file.
